


Deserving

by Miss_Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Mild Kissing, snamione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Anonymous/pseuds/Miss_Anonymous
Summary: Severus Snape always makes it to the dungeons after a Death Eater Commune.  ALWAYS...until, one night, he can't.





	1. Midnight Exploration

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Wonderful People!
> 
> I am ridiculously exited to share my first ever Fanfiction with everybody! It is rated Teen because I am super paranoid about potential later kissing :) Please, please, let me know how I can improve, I welcome any and all suggestions. I would also LOVE to read anything you have written, just let me know! Some of my favorite ships are in my profile bio, but I am always open to trying anything and everything!
> 
> For this story, Hermione, Harry, and Ron are 18. They have returned to Hogwarts after a year of searching for horcruxes, destroying all but Nagini (and Harry - although he is unaware that he is a horcrux at this point). As the war drags on and the death toll mounts, the three have been forced to return to their education and gear up for the final battle while the Order works on destroying the final horcrux, and Voldemort. Sirius is not dead; Dumbledore is not dead; Severus does not know Harry is a horcrux. In the search for horcruxes, Hermione was tortured in Malfoy Manor, but survived. Hermione is of age; the legal age of consent, for our purposes, is 18. Most likely, none of this will be addressed; I just thought, for clarity's sake, I'd ramble on and confuse everyone. Yes, that makes perfect sense.
> 
> Lots of Love!  
> -S

His limp body curled against the wall, shaking in pain and frustration. So damn close, he thought, trying to string together a rational and coherent mental sentence. Severus Snape dragged his hand up the corridor wall and pulled himself forward, grunting as blood trickled through his hairline, streaking the contours of his nose, filling the crevices of his lips, a patchwork of dry skin that had clearly been almost regrown before it was brutally ripped off yet again. 

His calf muscles spasmed, and he grabbed a nearby sconce before he fell, panting in exhaustion. Having apparated an entire floor above the dungeons, the farthest he’s ever been off after a particularly taxing Commune, Severus was desperately trying to avoid any patrolling staff, or worse, snooping students, in such a compromising position. The nerves on his left forearm pulsed, as every individual pump of his heart sent blood forcefully through the swollen veins; his impeccable black robes were missing two buttons, his right sleeve was shredded, and blood and bodily fluids soaked the hems of his cloak – to whom they belonged, either himself or another, he was unsure. 

A second contraction ripped through his back, and he whimpered in pain, inching forward. Please, please, please, he repeated like a mantra, please, please, please, please. Two more hallways, just two more. He had express permission to apparate both to and from Hogwarts on Commune nights; Dumbledore had modified the wards, linking the barrier to the color of his mark. It was understood this was the only possible method of transport, as any Muggle means would have been too suspicious in the state Severus was sure to be; Dumbledore trusted Severus would be capable of apparating directly into the dungeons, where he could be tended to as needed. 

Only, Severus thought grimly, Dumbledore overestimated my talents once again. Had he been clearly thinking earlier in the evening, or expecting a summons, Severus would have realized the 38 third-year Fitness Potions he tested earlier in the day were of much concern; equivalent of a solid 2-hour workout, and doubled with the Cruciatus Curse, his leg muscles were rendered essentially useless. Despite sampling only a drop from each dose before delivering the lot to Madam Pomfrey, who used them as an alternative to compulsive dieting (The things one will do in the name of societal attractiveness! she thought), the combined effect had taken its toll, unbeknownst to Severus, who now clutched the walls in a rather desperate fashion as his thighs refused to cooperate. 

“Professor?” asked a female voice, echoing down the corridor. “Professor Snape?” Severus froze in trepidation, trembling against the stone wall. Please, please, not a student, not a stu- he thought. Dainty footsteps drew closer with increasing pace, before breaking into a sprint, deftly striking the floor. Severus heard a gasp as the intruder stopped, breathing on his back. 

“Oh God,” a female voice whispered, tinted with something like pity – no, revulsion, thought Severus. 

“O.k. Professor, I’m going to sit you down. Stop moving!” the voice chided. 

Severus felt two hands gently grasp his upper body, and, supporting his weight, turned his body. Of course it had to be Granger, he groaned. 

“Miss Granger,” he rasped, surprised he was able to talk at all around the saliva, mucus, and blood still filling his mouth, “Re-return to…a-at…once.” 

His voice began to flicker as it grew progressively weaker, and, to his utter mortification, he slid down the wall, coming to rest almost entirely on Hermione. He could see her face clearly; forehead streaked with ink, hair loosely tamed by a red-and-gold bandanna, brown eyes brimming with tears. 

Beautiful, he thought, before catching himself, disgusted. She is a student! You are old enough to be her father, he reminded himself. 

“Oh, Professor, you need to stop doing this to yourself,” whispered Hermione, staring into the coal-black eyes that rested on her lap. 

Like the ocean, she thought, deep and beautiful and mysterious. 

God, how she wanted to run her hands through his hair, feel him shudder in relief, whisper at him until he cracked, until his lids bled oil, and he felt safe enough to shake with the feeling she watched him bury, daily, beneath smirks and insults. She wanted to tell him it was okay to feel, that he deserved to feel; that, if he wanted, she would listen. She wanted to remind him that touch could be comforting, not just painful; that words could help instead of breaking you to the point you wanted to shatter yourself, and no longer needed anyone to push you over the edge. She wanted him to realize she noticed when he missed lessons and they were faced with a half-competent substitute teacher who could never truly express why ingredients were added in a particular order, or find beauty in a half-boiled shrivelfig, and that she charted those absences, crying into her pillow as she remembered Malfoy Manor, and imagining his pain. 

Hermione glanced once more at the tortured face, and, taking a deep breath, began to speak. 

“Professor, you don’t deserve this. Having to face Him, sometimes twice a month, having to face V-Voldemort? Because that’s where you go, isn’t it? It’s not family, or business, or some potion-related excuse Professor Dumbledore has cooked up, it’s torture. He does God knows what to you, and you are expected to take it, bravely, as if you needed to prove something, then somehow get back here, and teach the next day, covered from head to toe in glamours, which will make even the nicest person irritated, exhausted, and inexplicably angry. You get picked on and ridiculed by my peers, who are too clueless to realize anything, and try to make your classes hell; they don’t even care enough to avoid explosions! I can’t even imagine your duties as a staff member, not to mention the laborious amounts of grading I am sure the student population must generate.” 

Here she paused and took a breath. 

“You are selfless to a fault, brilliant,” she blushed, “and, without a doubt, the bravest man I know. You deserve so much better,” she repeated, voice cracking. 

“I am so, so, sorry.” Hermione Granger, the toughest witch of her year, who had faced so many of her prejudiced peers and teachers head on, who had campaigned for and tried to free an enslaved magical species while completing more coursework, ahead of time, than the founders themselves had ever undertaken, who had withstood torture and interrogation by the Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange herself regarding some of the most sensitive information the Order possessed, began to cry, cradling the head of the bleeding Potions Master. 

“I am so, so, sorry,” she whispered over and over, gently brushing the black locks of hair off his face.

“Miss Granger!” said a surprised voice. “What on earth are you doin- Severus?” 

Hermione whipped around and came face to face with none other than the Headmaster, himself. 

“P-p-Professor, he needs help, please, sir, I don’t know what to do for him, he is in tremendous pain!” Hermione said frantically, tears freely running down her face, blurring her vision. 

“We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey! Quickly!” Dumbledore said worriedly, wordlessly levitating his body, and directing it down the hall. 

If Hermione would have looked down, one last time, she would have noticed a single tear tracing the creases of Severus Snape, the unshakable, terrifying Potion Master’s face.


	2. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everybody!
> 
> Here is the second chapter of what was supposed to be a two-shot :) Apparently, Severus and Hermione decided they have a different plan! Enjoy!
> 
> \- S

Hermione burst through the doors of the hospital wing, panting slightly, wooden double doors smacking the wall with a resonant _bang!_ Madam Pomfrey jumped, dropping the sheets she was folding in scandalized alarm. 

“What do you mean by barging in like – Severus?” Her face paled as Dumbledore strode through the entrance, gently disposing the Potion Master’s limp body on the nearest available bed. 

“Miss Granger found him in the hallway, Poppy,” he said as she began to cast a variety of diagnosis charms, growing gradually more alarmed. “He was an entire floor above the dungeons…I can’t imagine what happened,” Dumbledore tapered off, shaking his head. 

“What did they do to him, Madam Pomfrey?” whispered Hermione, who had looked up from the cot in time to see something flash across her face before disappearing into stoicism. Madam Pomfrey hesitated, arms falling to her sides, the rag she was using to clean Snape’s forehead streaking her white uniform with red. 

“I really don’t think – confidentiality, and - ,” she began. Dumbledore surveyed Hermione’s worried, still-flushed face as she unconsciously smoothed the bed sheets, fingers clenching and unclenching. 

“You may tell her, Poppy. Whatever you tell me. She has a right to know,” he interrupted, her continuous, half-hearted stream of protests abruptly cutting off as though it was duty that compelled her to speak in the first place, and, doctor-patient confidentiality be damned, thought a student showing such ardent interest in the well-being of Professor Snape could know anything they desired. She was not going to do anything to risk a change in whatever heart compelled Hermione to follow Severus to the hospital wing, and remain by his side. _The poor man_ , she thought, _deserves to have people that care about him_. She looked up, meeting Hermione’s shining brown eyes, and sighed.

“He’s been tortured,” she replied bluntly. “It appears the reason he was incapable of motion was the aftereffects of the repeated use of the Cruciatus curse, which, as you know,” she paused, and looked accusingly at Dumbledore, “causes severe muscle spasming. Coupled with the Fitness Potions Severus tested this afternoon before delivering here, not too long before his meeting, if my estimated timing is correct, movement would have been near impossible; anyone who managed to drag even their upper body three feet in that condition would have my lifelong respect.

“In addition,” she continued, “It appears he was beaten, and rather severely. Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing; his torso and lower body show extensive bruising. They went at all of the places that wouldn’t bleed.” She mumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘bastards’. “Mostly left his face alone, although, as I’m sure you noticed, he does have a head injury, and a possible light concussion.”

She stopped talking, and glanced at Dumbledore, who was staring at the floor, and Hermione, who was shaking, eyes firmly focused on the patient, fingers still moving the sheets around. She registered the end of the diagnosis a minute later. 

“What do we do?” she asked Madam Pomfrey flatly, eyes raking critically over Dumbledore, who seemed to be reasoning something in an undertone out loud with himself.

“I’m going to strip him; I think if we get these disgusting robes off, we’ll have an easier time making him comfortable,” Madam Pomfrey threw over her shoulder, already halfway down the ward. Hermione, who had blushed bright red at the term “strip him” in reference to _Professor Snape_ , grabbed a fresh dampened rag out of the pan near the foot of the bed, and resumed wiping the blood off the Potion Master’s face. 

“I need to inform Minerva of these events, and Alfred that his services will be required tomorrow; he should be able to pick up potions classes for at least three days, more if necessary.” Dumbledore sighed unhappily. “Poor Severus…I wonder what set them off this time,” he said softly, his usual gliding gait weighted as he left the hospital wing. 

“Here,” Madam Pomfrey briskly addressed Hermione, throwing her a muggle pajama shirt, herself holding a pair of fuzzy Labrador-patterned pants that would not have looked out of place in a five-year-old’s wardrobe. “Can you hold him? I need to get these off his back,” she said, gesturing to Severus’s over-buttoned choice of daily attire.

“Um-I…yes, I can hold him,” stuttered Hermione, awkwardly laying a hand on Severus’s shoulder. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “P-professor? Professor Snape? I’m just going to help you sit up for a bit, alright? For Madam Pomfrey.” She faltered as Madam Pomfey smiled, amused at the affect the Potions Master had on students, even when unconscious. “Okay, Professor, that’s it,” Hermione continued talking as she gently braced her arm beneath his body and began to raise him into a sitting position with a slight grunt, “We’re almost there”. She sat on the bed, leaning his body weight against her as she tried to catch her breath, triumphantly holding the doll-like Snape upright. Madam Pomfrey quickly unbuttoned the robes, and began pulling them over a limp arm. Severus moaned, startling both women. “It’s alright, Professor. You made it back. You made it to Hogwarts. We have you,” Hermione said soothingly. She faltered, and Severus moaned again.

“Don’t stop talking,” Madam Pomfrey said grimly, moving on to the second arm. “He’s going to be in a lot of pain when he fully awakens, and I want these clothes off before he can feel it.” 

Hermione nodded her understanding, taking a deep breath as Severus began to stir in her arms. “Please, Professor, you have to stay still, you’re hurting yourself,” Hermione begged as he let out another tortured noise. “Please, Professor. It’s alright, they can’t touch you here, we have you. I have you.” Madam Pomfrey worked silently as Hermione kept up her whispered stream, pausing only to take a breath here and there, or gently shift the Potion Master’s body back against her as he writhed in increasingly noticeable pain. 

“I’m going to need you to lift him,” Madam Pomfrey said after some time, rolling her sleeves. “I can pull the robe up if you can get his body off of the bed for thirty seconds.” Hermione nodded, bracing herself. 

“Okay, Professor, I need to lift you for a little bit, alright?” she said, wrapping her arms underneath his, and grabbing his chest firmly. One, two, three, she chanted mentally, heaving up as Severus nearly screamed. Hermione blinked back tears as Madam Pomfrey tugged the robe out from underneath Severus, and Hermione released him onto the bed. 

“We’re almost done, I promise,” she murmured, rubbing his back as Madam Pomfrey made quick work of his soiled undershirt, forcing on the polka-dotted top. 

“Okay,” she said, out of breath, hands bracing her back. “Lay him down.” 

Hermione gently lowered Professor Snape to the bed, smiling as he sighed in momentary relief. Madam Pomfrey tugged the pajama pants over his own, unwilling to hurt him more than they already had. She settled for several quick scourgifys before leaving to find a bottle of medicine and muscle-relaxers. 

“You did so well, Professor,” Hermione said, tucking the sheets more firmly around his person before sitting carefully near the head of the bed. She began stroking his black hair lightly. “I meant what I said in the hallway. You are the bravest man I know, Severus Snape.” He whimpered, and she grabbed his hand, squeezing gently. “Every time it hurts, grab my hand,” she instructed, watching as his face tightened and then released. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend anymore. You’re safe here. I promise,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Madam Pomfrey, who had arrived in time to hear that last sentence, as she stood quietly behind Hermione, set the bottle of potion on the bedside table with a _bang!_ , making Hermione jump. Madam Pomfrey measured out a tablespoon, brushing it against Severus’s lips. 

“Come on, Severus, you have to take this. It will help,” she coaxed, as his mouth remained stubbornly shut. “Severus, really, you’re worse than the children,” she chided, trying to force the liquid through his lips. “Severus, please,” Madam Pomfrey asked desperately, trying to loosen his mouth with her fingers, “You need this!”

Hermione, who had been watching the one-sided exchange with increasing worry, brushed his forehead with her wrist, never letting go of his hand. “You’re burning up! Please, Professor, please, you need to listen to Madam Pomfrey,” she begged. “I know it hurts. I know you feel like you deserve this, Professor, but you don’t. You are selfless, intelligent, and absolutely irreplaceable. Please, Severus, if you aren’t going to do this for yourself, do it for me.” Hermione took the spoon from Madam Pomfrey, who was watching the young woman with curiosity, and leaned over, running her fingers down his flushed cheeks. 

“We’re going to try this again now. I’m right here, Professor, and I have something that will make this better. I promise.” She touched the spoon to his lips, her other hand gently stroking his hair. Severus Snape opened his mouth.

“That’s it Professor,” Hermione sighed in relief as he swallowed. Madam Pomfrey shook her head slightly in amazement. _Will wonders never seize_ , she thought to herself, watching the tenderness with which Hermione clasped Severus’s hand, checked his fever, brushed the hair off of his forehead. _She’s fallen for him._ She shook her head again. Something was bothering her, irking her conscious and she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what.

Only later, as Madam Pomfrey was assisting another student, Hermione never leaving the opposite end of the ward, did it come to her. _Severus._ She had called him Severus.


End file.
